Matters of Pride
by Kambriel
Summary: Takes place after the events of Grey 17 Is Missing. Neroon reflects on his conflicts and secret thoughts of Delenn. Mind the rating.


**Matters of Pride**

 **By Kate Doyle**

 **Previous Version of this story printed in the fanzine** _ **Dangerous Dreams**_ **published by Your Press or Mine**

 _Set after the events of Grey 17 Is Missing_

"Minbari flyer, you are cleared for departure."

Neroon guided the flyer out, setting the course for the jump gate. It opened before him, enveloping him. He set the controls for hyperspace travel and rubbed his eyes. He was weary, bone-numbing weary. The aches and pains from the fight with the human, he could ignore. The heavy cloud of shame, he could not.

Delenn. As always, Delenn. She lived still, to torment him another day. Strangely enough, the thought brought relief to him. Neroon's rage had brought him so far. His defeat was difficult to bear, but the Ranger had been correct to stop him. To remind him of what he was. To show him a truth that Delenn tried to reveal. A truth that his pride had not allowed him to see before.

Had he truly wished her death? Yes, she was still a dangerous zealot. The religious caste was in awe of Delenn; some saw in her the hand of prophecy, some nothing less than Valen reborn. She threatened the structure of Minbari society.

Her death would have exorcised her from him…From his thoughts, from his dreams. The Sea take the female! What would have it been like to have Delenn's life in his hands? The full extent of his rage toward her choked him. He would have smashed her bones apart, feel her blood splash hot on his hands. To finally make her helpless, take away all her power, empty before him, at his mercy. A ferocious need to humble her. A need so great that it had driven him to this? Neroon had been saved from the worst parts of himself. For that, he was grateful to the human.

Neroon had been surprised when the human Marcus had stepped out to fight him. He had anticipated Lennier or perhaps Sheridan to defend Delenn. Lennier must have shielded Sheridan and alerted the Ranger. Clever, yes. He could see Delenn's influence in her attaché's actions. Lennier had prevented violence between the castes and protected her lover as well.

Her lover. The rumors had been true. 'Starkiller' Sheridan, in love with a Minbari! The human had radiated the emotion from his flushed, pink face. His hands on her arms with clear familiarity. Her eyes had shone with pleasure at his smile, at his touch… She who was once Satai! It was at that moment that Neroon's resolve to fight her had hardened. Seeing that hairy, honorless barbarian touch her. Neroon's thoughts were taking him to places he did not want to go. Showing him things he could not bear to see.

How far had this 'affection' of hers progressed? Had she watched him sleep? Had she shared with him The Ritual of Disrobing? The Rite of the Kiss? The Gift of the Touch? Had Delenn shared Afat'Shein with a human? With the Starkiller?

The thought sickened his mind and chilled his skin.

The image of Delenn in Neroon's mind, her fingers pulling the clasps of her robe free. Smiling at Sheridan, the one she has chosen. Smiling with her mouth and eyes. Her skin revealed, not pale with a cool, soft blue cast, but a feverish cream. Warm.

Neroon rubbed his eyes impatiently. He was just tired, that was all. What did it matter to him that she would sully herself with such a one? She was no longer pure Minbari. A strange creature with a foot in both worlds. Neroon was warrior caste. Why care if she shared rituals that his own caste did not always follow, considering them quaint and outdated?

Neroon's mind recalled guiltily of a picture he kept secret, hidden away in his belongings. He had purchased it the first time he had visited Babylon 5, before Branmer's body had vanished. It had appealed to him aesthetically, at least that's what he'd convinced himself of at the time.

The picture showed a human woman, sleeping naked on a bed of leaves. The light brown of the large leaves draped and curled over her skin, sheltering her form. Fine golden hair shown on her arms and legs. Her red-brown hair was swept over her shoulders and into the leaves. She was curled like a babe, all rose, golden and brown. It was the most natural looking image he'd seen. It troubled him, his fascination with it. Even so, he could not part with it. The woman was nothing like a Minbari female.

Neroon thought of Delenn and her human again, undressed and kneeling face to face. Their skin warm and glowing from touch and the fever of emotion. She stretched out her hand to rest over his heart. Sheridan's own hand resting in valley between her breasts to feel her life forced.

Enough! Enough of this!

Adjusting his chair, Neroon closed his eyes. Using all of his self-discipline, he blocked the thoughts from his mind. Soon, he had willed himself to sleep.

Neroon was back on the Grey Council's flagship. Startled, he pushed back the hood of his robe, and looked around. The Council Chamber was cold and dark apart from the circle of light he stood in. He held the Councilor staff in his hand.

No! This was not possible! Delenn had shattered it!

Neroon stared at the staff, running his hand over it. Another circle of light appeared, he looked up with his hand tightening around the staff. Preparing himself for what might appear.

It was a female. A Minbari female. A young, Warrior Caste female. Her eyes were downcast, a show of respect. She bowed to him. "Satai Neroon."

Neroon was unsure how to address her. She was beautiful, poised and reverent. She was unknown to him. He walked to her, trying to determine her clan from her clothing.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"That is not required, Satai." Her neck was curved in a humble pose.

"Why are you here?"

"To obey." She bowed again, graceful in humility. "To serve."

Neroon walked around her, suspicious. The elusive fragrance of Nathai caressed his senses. Her beauty was exquisite, her skin pale, bone-crest delicately curling, patterned in breathtaking intricacy. Her mouth was soft and red. She was desirable, very desirable.

"Show your heart to me." His command was soft, but absolute.

She obeyed without a word. She pulled her over-vest over her head, folded it and set it by her feet. The tunic and undershirt followed, treated with the same care. She did not hurry, so not to be careless. A poetry of movement and obedience. Respect, for her place and for him.

Yes, this aroused him.

Her torso glowed white in the harsh light. The violet of her nipples, dark in contrast. The patterns of lavender across her belly were beautiful. He laid his hand between her breasts, feeling the tingling charge of her life force. It was strong, very strong.

"What do you want?" He was still suspicious but he made his voice softer. Who was this one to offer herself so unconditionally? Was her humility a test of honor for her?

"To serve you, Satai. To give you pleasure is a great honor." Her breath caught as his hand moved from her heart to her breast. His grip became stressful. She gasped but made no protest.

"Then why do you not give your name, your clan's name? Is not your honor also theirs?" Neroon asked harshly. The feeling of the staff in his hand, the sense of her body so close, the power in both, was heady, intoxicating.

"That is unimportant, Satai. It is your need that matters."

Neroon released her. "We shall see. Kneel."

She dropped to her knees, gracefully, in one smooth movement. Her hands folded on her chest in reverence. Neroon circled her again, this time in admiration. He could express pleasure or pain with her, she would accept either with equal grace. All for the sake of honor.

"What do you offer me?" Neroon's voice was a low growl.

Her ritualized response had a thick layer of emotion. "The Gift of Touch, of Kiss, of Obedience."

"Look at me." He commanded.

"It is forbidden, Satai." She shivered, keeping her gaze to the floor.

"Then are your Gifts of Touch and Kiss worth as little as your Obedience? Look up."

She lifted her eyes. They were a deep, shining blue. He touched her jaw with a hand, caressing gently.

"Touch." Neroon commanded, his voice softer. She reached for him. She stroked him through his robes, petting and stroking. He felt himself harden and extend. His grip tightened on the staff. He would have liked to set it aside but couldn't bear to release the sacred object. Her hands slid through his robes, unclasping them. She exposed his erect organ with care, with admiration. His sheath-skin had pulled back and tightened against his shaft. She traced the patterns of blue with a fingertip, the delicate touch excited him more. He reached out and caressed her bone-crest in approval. Boldly, she touched him more.

It was surreal to him, to be in this place, having this happen. Neroon considered why she had approached him there. She was of Warrior Caste, it made sense that she would face him at the place of highest authority. To do otherwise could be interpreted as showing a lack of respect. He considered withdrawing, take her to his private quarters but dismissed it. No one would disturb them. The setting itself was adding to his excitement. He was warmed by her hands, his erection felt heavy and hot. He wanted more from her.

"Kiss." He burst out, gruffly.

She obeyed instantly. Her lips were soft on him, gently drawing his pale skin. She kissed his organ carefully, all over. Her hands moved to the rise of skin where his testes were, massaging and kissing in passing waves. His hand moved over her head, stroking the curves of her bone with his thumb. Her tongue was teasing, lashing at him, trying to generate the most pleasure. She took him in her mouth, sucked, pulled, taking him as deep as she could allow. Her teeth rubbed against him. It created a stress that was wildly exciting. And still it wasn't enough for him. Frustration was nipping at him. It was not hard enough, fast enough. Her submission was perfect – too perfect – there was no resistance, no friction, no challenge. No fire.

Neroon seized the back of her head and pushed himself forward. He buried himself deep in her mouth. She made a choking noise but made no attempt to pull back. She tightened her fingers on his flesh as he pulled back. Her nails pierced his skin as he thrust again. She did not choke this time. The pain from her scratches exhilarated him. He thrust again and again. He looked up in pleasure, his breath coming fast and harsh. He was looking out, away from her and saw another light.

In the protective circle of light a naked human female laid curled, asleep on a bed of leaves. The image of his hidden picture. Rose, red, gold and brown all overlapping in natural tones. The innocent sensuality. image only encouraged him. Neroon thrust faster.

The human female rolled onto her back, her breasts rose and fell as she breathed. One arm stretched languidly over her head. Soft, dark hair was in a small patch under her arm. He desperately wondered what it felt like. Her full breasts had nipples of dark rose, which were soft and relaxed. Neroon was shocked by the fierce desire to stroke them into hardness. His breath was ragged, his fingers felt numb around the staff. Her belly had no color patterns, it looked vulnerable and exposed. A triangular shaped patch of hair was at the apex of her thighs. It looked almost like fur.

Was this what Delenn would look like now? As he looked at the female, her hair darkened. He could see the curve of the bone-crest, like a crown. Her limbs longer, more graceful than his picture. Her eyes stayed closed with sleep. If they opened would they be that moss shade of green? She was asleep, waiting to be awakened.

Neroon closed his eyes and climaxed.

Neroon woke with a start, his breath escaped with a violent hiss. He stiffened, blinked rapidly, trying to will the dream away. To erase that dream image of Delenn and her strange, naked beauty. Angry at himself, he returned attention to the ships instruments. Still so far from home.

Why could he not free himself of her? Why didn't she give up, take her lover and vanish and leave Minbar behind? Just disappear from the Universe, disappear from him.

Neroon remembered the first time he saw her. She had come to see Branmer, after the war had begun so long ago. She was so elegant and remote. The most beautiful female he had ever seen. He'd asked his mentor, "Who is she?"

"She is Delenn of Mir. She is Satai." Branmer replied simply.

In that single moment, a desire that Neroon had not had a chance to fully acknowledge was taken away. One of the nine, religious case, he soon learned. Satai. She was forever beyond him. Out of his reach.

The war had gained him honor and regard. He was Aylt, to the great honor of his Clan. He had served well under Branmer, with both love and respect for his mentor. He had taken no mate, a choosing to stay and serve his mentor. When Branmer died, it shattered a hole in his very soul. That also brought him into conflict with the Satai he had never forgotten.

He had only wanted to show Branmer the honor he deserved! How could she not understand that? That look from her scorn-filled eyes had torn his pride and left him bare. She was Satai, obedience was required from him. Neroon had yielded and obeyed. He had made amends to that human, Sinclair. He told the transformation story to his fellow warriors. His losses during the war had never cut so deep. He never had believed that someone so beautiful could be so formidable. He never underestimated the Religious Caste again.

Neroon protested when Sinclair came to Minbar. He was ignored. Sheridan the Starkiller was sent to Babylon 5, and Neroon hoped above hope that it would be the death of the Station. Then Delenn had transformed herself. She had made herself a hybrid, all because of prophecy.

He had been shocked when he heard of it. He could not believe any Minbari would do such a thing. She so willingly threw away her identity, her status, her race for the whispered prayers and musings of the long dead and allowed them to dictate her fate. The proud, presumptuous, favored Delenn had listened to the ancient ones and followed them against all reason and common sense. It could have been admirable if it had not been so tragic. The Warrior Caste had been renewed by her downfall and had made the bid for more power. Neroon had triumphed.

Delenn had stood before the Nine, pleading her case to remain at Babylon 5. Neroon had savored her wounded pride, drank her humiliation, even as his eyes absorbed her now alien form. He wanted her gone to Babylon 5, where she could finally be forgotten. Still, in the night she had come to his dreams and touched him. He had woken, trembling, his skin tingling from her hair brushing against it.

Then, the dark time had come. She had been right with her prophecies and signs.

When Sheridan was accused of murder, Neroon had been pleased. If Sheridan had been found guilty, the shame would have stained her. She would have faced punishment for supporting him. The plans had gone awry. Sheridan, surprisingly, had saved face for Lennier and Delenn. Soon afterwards, she was regaining her lost ground. The Council had let her have her rangers, her ships, and her humans. Delenn had refused to fade into the night.

Delenn leaned over him in his dreams and touched him with her soft hair, rubbing it against his trembling skin. Her fingertips touched him in the light way that was the custom of the Religious Caste. Touching him from the heart outward to all over his body. The light touches to be followed by firmer touches, the smooth flow of her warm palms, preparing the way for the touch of her lips.

No! He savagely pushed the thought away. She was impure! An abomination! He would never want to undergo the Afat'shein with Delenn! It was only a ridiculous dream.

Neroon remember the rush of disgust that he felt when he witnessed the human's hands touching her with familiarity. Humans! Such undisciplined, unprincipled creatures. She would be disappointed, he was sure. Neroon seriously doubted that Sheridan would have the patience for the Afat'shein. How could a human appreciate the honor of receptivity, the undivided attention from a partner, to be worshipped with their body, all for love? At the first touch of her lips on his skin, Sheridan would probably push her to the floor to rut like an animal.

Would she allow it? Would that human half of her welcome that? Again the images pushed into his mind. Imaging Delenn before her lover, serene and beautiful, reaching out to push his robe off. Kissing Sheridan to show her approval of his naked form, in spite of the differences. Keeping her own robe on so he would not be distracted, guiding him to the bed to recline. Then lay her hands over Sheridan's heart, feeling the life force. Her hands would move outwards, first with her fingertips, then caressing more firmly. Delenn would run her hands all over his body until his skin was away and alive. Sherdian softly saying her name, sighing with pleasure, stroking her hair. Then groaning with desire when she ran her hands over his genitals.

Sheridan would not keep still under her hands, he would rise to meet them. When she returned to his chest, he would embrace her, holding her close. Sheridan would kiss her, not realizing the breach of etiquette. He would simply run his hands over her with hunger. He would be frustrated by her robe. Neroon could invision Delenn's smile as she pushed her human's hands down and tell him to behave. Her green eyes would dance as she would kiss his heart, his throat, his jaw and his lips.

Humans sleep horizontally, Neroon remembered. He couldn't imagine Sheridan being able to let go of his composure and still keep his balance on a Minbari bed. He would become excited, Neroon was sure, and seize Delenn at the feel of her lips, losing control at the soft touch of her tongue. He would embrace her again, losing their balance and sliding to the floor. Sheridan would hold her on his lap, holding her tight to feel his arousal. Engulfing her mouth with his own, his grip strong on the back of her neck. Rubbing his face in her hair, smelling it, kissing it, as he rubs his alien hands on her bone-crest. He would press her forward until she is kneeling. Unable to free her robe gently he would yank on it until it pulled free. She would be revealed, beautiful and exotic. Delenn would cover Sheridan's hands with her own as he touches her. Her breath hard and fast. She would cry out his name as he kneels behind her and opens her with his hand. Neroon could almost hear the gasp of desire as Sheridan enters her body. She would match his pace, thrusting back to meet him. Sheridan would be finding his voice, crying out, his arms tight around her as they climax.

That is how they would be. That is how she would be. With another, always with another. Why should that matter to him?

There had been talk of Dukat and her – together. Neroon had never believed it. It would have gone against all custom for a mentor to initiate a student to the Rituals of Pleasure. The Religious Caste tended to pair acolytes with ones of their own age, with hope of later marriage. If this did not occur, the pair would go quietly on, nothing more said. Neroon suspected Rathenn had been the one, it would explain his slavish devotion to her.

Would Rathenn want her now, she had been defiled by a human?

Think of her the way Neroon did? Want her as he…NO.

Neroon's temper and pride flared. Want her? No! He would only want to shame her. To ignore the customs of their people, the steps of their traditions. To see the fiery look of passion and anger as he tore the fabric of her robe away, cast aside with his own. To have her meet his eyes with no hesitation, no fear. To feel a kiss as rough as his own, a strength meeting a strength. His caresses so harsh that they would leave marks on her skin, her nails digging deep into the skin of his back.

No! Neroon looked out and away, out at the swirling light of hyperspace.

So far from home.


End file.
